Carry On
by perspective21
Summary: Just two people at the end of the world. Thrown together, alone together. Post-prison, S4. BETHYL. Rating may change.
1. After

**Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to AMC's Walking Dead or any of the characters. I own only my imagination.**

**Summary: Just two people at the end of the world, thrown together, alone together. T rating (for now), during S4, post-prison. BETHYL.**

...

1. _After_

_We all got jobs to do_, Beth remembers her father telling her. That night in the prison, her home, when things seemed like they were falling apart, like they couldn't get any worse.

She sure knew better now. It could always get worse. And usually does, especially when you least expect it to. She wants to scream and cry, throw a tantrum right there next to the dying fire, kick up the dirt with her feet and bring the walkers down upon her. Daryl probably wouldn't even flinch. Just leave her or knock her over the head or something. Tell her to get her shit together. Tell her to grow up.

Instead, she just folds her arms over her knees and puts her head down. She watches the cooling embers flare up and dim again, rhythmically, quietly. It would be so easy just to give up now. To join the hungry parade of the dead. But when she closes her eyes, Beth sees her father in his final moments clearly. His face in their direction, she and Maggie, his eyes drinking them in, but his expression calm, steady, accepting.

_You're not gonna quit now_, he'd tell her, _you've still got a job to do. We all got jobs to do. And right now, yours is living._

…

It's getting late, the sun has already begun to dip behind the trees, and before she can move, Daryl is up and stamping out the remains of their campfire, then moving on to check the lines.

Beth pulls out a couple of thin blankets she'd hastily packed on their last scavenge and lays one down for herself, smoothing it out under the small makeshift tent.

"Here, it's my watch tonight," she holds the other one out to Daryl as he makes his way back over.

His eyes flit over to her briefly before he drops down heavily away from her and punches his bag around like a pillow before laying his head down. He doesn't respond. She's nobody to him, just tagging along.

"Oookay."_He's angry,_ she reasons as she packs the blanket back into her bag. _Not at me, at everything._

She understands. She gets it, but she knows he doesn't think she does. To him, she's just the kid who doesn't know shit about this world or any other world. But she's here with him and that's enough for now.

They lay on their backs, staring up at the stars peeking down on them from in-between the tree tops.

"Everything finally seemed just normal for a while, ya know?" Her soft voice drifts over to him, wavering in the silence.

"Ain't nothin' ever been normal." _That's the real truth_, Daryl thinks. And before she can say anything else stupid, he turns his back to her.

There's no such thing as normal, that's the real truth.

...

**A/n: **This will have multiple chapters. I'm open to suggestions about where you guys want the plot to go or any ideas for their journey together.


	2. After, Part 2

**Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to AMC's Walking Dead or any of the characters. I own only my imagination.**

**Summary: Just two people at the end of the world, thrown together, alone together. T rating (for now), during S4, post-prison. BETHYL.**

**A/n: **Going kind of slow right now, but it'll pick up.

…

1.2 _After_

…

She said she don't cry no more but some nights Daryl hears her. When she thinks he's asleep and it's her turn to watch, the muffled sobs make their way over to him. But it ain't Beth's cryin' that keeps him awake. Truth is, he doesn't trust her enough to let her take a full watch. She ain't got the skill for it. He's always so damn tired but he knows the one time he starts to get a good night's rest will be the night the biters close in on them. All because of her damn cryin'.

…

He'd be better off on his own, he knows that for sure. He thinks about leavin' her often enough. Just disappearing into the woods while he's on the hunt for dinner. But he knows that's a right dick move, even in this world of the evil and dead.

He don't ever consider it for more than a minute or two at a time. And when he does, he remembers her singin' to Lil' Asskicker, remembers how grateful Rick was for Beth takin' care of her. Daryl remembers how she's been a part of their fucked up group of survivors from the beginning, even in her own small way.

…

Most of all, Daryl remembers Hershel. He remembers how attentive Hershel was to Beth. At first tryin' to protect her from the truth, then tryin' to help her adjust to it, to help her find a place for herself in the end of the world.

He thinks of how much of dumbass she is for being so cheerful and hopeful all the time and then remembers Hershel taught her to be that way. He don't know why. If it was just her out here, she'd be one of 'em by now and ain't nothin' redeeming in that.

But he remembers how Hershel kept them all together by keepin' Rick together. Hershel made sure they weren't just surviving, he made sure they remembered that they had a purpose and responsibilities to each other. He made 'em a family of sorts.

And a part of Daryl thinks that's real fucked up cause it wouldn't have ever lasted, not in this world, and it didn't. All it did was just make 'em hope, and dream, and forget about the danger, avoid the warning signs, let their guard down, and leave 'em vulnerable.

But then he remembers that bein' a part of their fucked up group was the only time he ever felt _accepted _and _valued _and worth a damn. It was the only time he ever felt _important _and _needed_. Goddamn, he's become such a little girl talkin' about _feelings _and shit.

And he can still see the blade slicing down into Hershel's neck, the blood staining him red, pourin' out of him in a current, but his eyes calm and steady, watchin' Beth, watchin' Maggie.

Daryl thinks he might've been tryin' to tell 'em somethin', but he don't know what. All he knows is that a man like that don't fear death.

…

So he won't leave her, cause Hershel ain't here to take care of her anymore and he wishes he could've done somethin' for him. Daryl don't really pray or anything but he thinks that wherever Hershel is, he might like it if he knew Beth was okay. He kind of resents it though. He don't see why she's worth it. She ain't gonna make it after all. None of them are.

…

Daryl can't hear much of her cryin' anymore but he gets up anyway and grabs for his crossbow, startling her.

"You tryin' to get us killed with all that noise?" he bit out gruffly, avoiding looking directly at her while she hastily swiped at her cheeks.

He hears Beth make some sort of apology but he don't really listen to it. Just sets up for the night at the base of a wide oak tree, hopin' the dawn arrives quickly.

He thinks about how stupid they all were and how he don't know what to do now that's it over.

_Just keep on walkin',_ he tells himself, _that's all there is to do now. Just keep on._

…

**A/n: **If it seems like Daryl isn't really fond of Beth, it's nothing personal. Clearly, he's still processing the attack at the prison.


	3. Now

**Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to AMC's Walking Dead or any of the characters. I own only my imagination.**

**Summary: Just two people at the end of the world, thrown together, alone together. T rating (for now), during S4, post-prison. BETHYL.**

…

2. _Now_

…

"We can track 'em."

.

"We _should_."

.

"I _know_ they're out there, Daryl."

.

"Retrace our steps back to the prison, we can hide out, find a trail, follow it."

.

"Daryl!"

.

"Are you even _listenin' _to me?"

.

"Fine, I'll just go by _myself_."

"You ain't gunna do nothin'."

"I'm goin' back, Daryl. I know somebody 'sides us had to get out. I _know _it."

"You don't know _nothin'_. And we _ain't_ goin' back there."

"I'm _goin' _back, Daryl. I'm goin'. What else have we got to do? Keep walking? Keep hiding? Keep killing walkers? What?"

.

"Damn-it, Beth!"

.

"Girl's gunna get us fuckin' killed."

…

"What'd you do before all this?"

"Nothin'."

"Nothin'? Well, you had to do _somethin'_."

"I didn't do _shit_. Ain't gotta tell you _shit_."

.

"I was gunna go to college, I think. Maybe study English, maybe music. Maybe help animals like Daddy."

.

"I wanted to be a singer. Big and famous, ya know? Not like Lady Gaga or nothin'. Me, just this nobody farm girl with a piano."

.

"That's how stupid I was. Now it don't mean nothin'. We're just here: walkin', killin', survivin'. No difference between us and the dead."

.

"That's why we gotta keep lookin' for 'em, Daryl. I have to find 'em. I can't just believe they're gone. This can't just be it. Daddy said-"

"Your daddy ain't here no more. He's dead, gone, _nowhere_. That's all there is now. And now you got us on the big goose chase and all its gunna get us is _killed_. You're livin' up in the clouds, blind to the shithole around you. Take a whiff, girl! That's all we're in now; a big ole' pile of _shit_. You and me? We're gunna die in this shitfield chasin' your little girl fantasies!"

"You think you got it all figured out, Daryl Dixon, but you're just walkin' 'round blind like the rest of us. You may as well just lie down and die, you act like you want it so bad. Just _die_ in this shithole then! I ain't just survivin' no more, I'm tryin' to _live_!"

.

"You gunna cry some more now? Thought you didn't cry no more? That's all you're good for anyway, just to sit there and cry like a lil' baby."

"Screw you, Daryl. _Screw_ you."

.

"Shut that up, you hear that?"

.

.

.

"Maybe we can wash up in the next town we get to."

"That you I been smellin' all day?"

"Well, you don't smell too pretty yourself."

"Whatchu' talkin' about? I smell like roses."

"You smell like _ass_."

"How you know what ass smells like?"

"What are you, four?"

…

**A/n:** Thought it'd be neat to try some straight dialogue between Beth and Daryl.

**Shout-Outs: **Thanks to **Bre27812** and **InTheVast** for being the first readers to review my story. I appreciate the feedback. :)


	4. Hope

**Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to AMC's Walking Dead or any of the characters. I own only my imagination.**

**Summary: Just two people at the end of the world, thrown together, alone together. T rating (for now), during S4, post-prison. BETHYL.**

**A/n: **I don't have a Beta so there are probably going to be errors here and there. I do value spelling/grammar/etc. so I reread my work quite often, but it's so easy for the small things to fly under the radar. I apologize in advance and will fix them when I see them.

…

3. _Hope_

…

Day 823

_Been out here eight days now. Just me and Daryl, after the prison. Seems like it's been the longest eight days of my life. I guess time went by a lost faster at the prison. It's funny cause livin' at the prison almost made me feel like we had all the time in the world. It wasn't about just survivin' anymore. We were makin' a home for ourselves, startin' fresh. _

_Just a week ago I was talkin' to Maggie about what to cook for supper, askin' Rick how the garden was gettin' on, and washin' out nappies for Judith cause we were almost out of diapers. But I can't think like that anymore. I'm more aware than ever of the clock tickin' even though bein' out here feels like forever. Like we're just gonna keep on walkin' on into eternity. _

_Daryl hasn't said much since I convinced him to help me track the others. He grumbles a bit every now and then, but I know it gives him somethin' to do 'sides be angry. _

_Sometimes I feel so alone. I haven't got used to that feelin' yet. I just wanna know Maggie and Glenn and the others are okay out there. I know I've always been the one they all look out for, but now I just wanna look out for them. Just see 'em whole and in one piece. And alive. I miss Daddy so bad. It hurts so much just to think about it. I know it's awful, but I think if he'd just been bit or gotten sick in the cell block that it would've been a better way to go. _

_We got evil on all sides of us. The dead walk and the living kill. I guess there isn't anywhere safe, and hardly anyone to trust. But Daddy's in a better place now. I have to believe that. That's he somewhere tryin' to keep us all safe._

_I'm glad I have Daryl. I guess that means I'm not so alone. Even though he don't talk much, I wouldn't want to be without him. He's all I got now. Sometimes I just wanna know what he's thinkin'. Does he ever think about leavin' me? Is he glad he ain't by himself too? Am I just slowin' him down? Just another kid to watch out for? _

_I wish I was as strong as Daryl. Without him, I probably wouldn't have even lasted this long. Not on my own. But I'm tryin' to learn. If Daryl can teach me to survive, maybe we'll have a chance at livin' again. _

_I think my birthday's come and gone. It's hard to keep track of when this all started and how long it's been. Before all this, I thought bein' eighteen would be like bein' an adult. And bein' an adult would mean havin' a plan and a future and knowin' how to take care myself and maybe someone else. But now I don't think I've ever been more scared. I'm glad I got Daryl though. He's strong, but he ain't so tough on the inside. I know he can be soft. And sweet. Always lookin' out for everyone else, even though he could probably make it without us. Without me. _

…

"Did you read that sign at the tracks, Daryl? Terminus." Beth asked after she'd followed him back into the cover of the woods.

"Yeah, whutta 'bout it?"

He stepped quickly and quietly, like a trained hunter. His eyes narrowed in, glancing carefully back and forth as he led them to some cover.

Beth chewed her lip as she followed behind him.

"Well, I guess that's where the tracks led." Daryl didn't respond, so she went on, "Maybe that's we're they're headed. The ones who got out too."

"Maybe," he grunted, relaxing the arm that held the crossbow as he came to a stop.

"Then we could follow 'em. We might even catch 'em. What if they're there?"

Daryl turned to face her now. Beth's eyes held his, a shimmer of hope there.

"We ain't goin' there, Beth. You want it to be Woodbury all over again? Can't you see we can't trust nobody?"

It was the only reasonable response, Beth knew that. She watched him kneel and dig around in his pack. His crossbow now resting close to his knee. Even with his back turned to her, Beth saw he was still alert, guarded. Like he didn't even trust her.

She sat down with him and set to digging, preparing the fire to cook the squirrels he'd shot earlier. Daryl moved on to setting up the noise trap around the tight cluster of oak trees they'd come to.

His dirty hands worked steadily, easily, automatically. Just like he worked the crossbow. Like he was made for it. This life. Easy as pie. Beth watched the muscles in his arms contract and relax with each movement and thought sitting here right now, building this fire, watching him work; well, it almost felt like peace.

A sudden wave of gratitude washed over her; her lips curved up into small smile. How lucky she was to be here with this man.

Her eyes left him to finish her task but then his large hands engulfed her tiny ones around the small flame and he was blowing gently on the fire, helping her bring it to life.

Beth took one of the squirrels and began to clean it while he did the other one.

"I trust you."

Daryl glanced up at her and then worked the knife roughly against the meat.

"That's different."

Beth sighed but smiled and continued skinning.

"We could follow in the woods, close to the tracks, scout it out, ya know? If we come to it, we watch it. Wait and see if we can spot someone we know."

She forced the carcass on a short stick and placed it over the fire.

"I'm not sayin' we gotta reveal ourselves or anything. We'll play it safe, but at least it's somethin'."

Daryl had finished too and began chewing his thumb, thinking it over.

The flames crackled as they licked up toward the squirrel and soon the gamey smell of roasting meat began to rise with the heat.

She knew before he answered that he was going to say yes.

"We keep our distance. That's the rule. We don't talk to no one. If we get there, you don't go runnin' off; you do as I say." Daryl relented, looking Beth steady in the eyes, still managing to keep the edge in his voice.

Beth grinned.

"I promise, _Mr. Dixon_."

Even though he called the shots, sometimes it felt like she was the one leading him. 

…

**A/n: **Started out with Beth's journal entry and then moved on into the story.

**Shout-outs: **thanks to **SquishyCool **for following and reviewing. J


	5. Searching

**Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to AMC's Walking Dead or any of the characters. I own only my imagination.**

**Summary: Just two people at the end of the world, thrown together, alone together. T rating (for now), during S4, post-prison. BETHYL.**

…

4. _Searching_

…

"Left one. Yellow dress. Right eye."

Daryl sighed and stood.

Beth heard the arrow zip through the air, heard the bow string vibrate violently.

Daryl looked down at her and extended his hand, an expectant look on his face, a twitch at the corner of his mouth.

"Come on! You can't even tell from here. I ain't fallin' for that." Beth scoffed and pushed herself to her feet, dusting the butt of her jeans off loudly.

"See for yourself."

Beth glared at him.

"I _will_." She raised her chin and stomped off toward the dead walker in a huff.

Left one, yellow dress, right eye.

_Damn him_, Beth thought as she stared down at the rotting corpse. The arrow was lodged deep in the right eye socket, dark red blood oozing around it.

"Fork 'em over."

She jumped, not expecting to see him there, so close, peering over her shoulder. It was almost absurd.

She wanted to laugh. Instead Beth scowled, shook three peanuts out of the Planter's package, and thrust them in his direction.

Daryl immediately tossed his head back and threw them in his mouth, chewing loudly.

"It ain't fair, you're goin' through my whole bag!"

"A deal's a deal. You's the one started this game anyway," he said and casually pushed his boot down on the walker's head, pulling his arrow free.

"'Sides, it's just peanuts."

Beth huffed. He was looking at her funny, long greasy bangs in his eyes, like he had something else to say but was holding it back.

"Every nut counts, Daryl," she stuffed the package back in her pocket and glanced up just as he slid the arrow back into the quiver.

His eyebrows raised and she gasped in understanding.

"Stop bein' nasty!" She felt her skin flush red, but thankfully, Daryl just turned from her with that funny look in his eye again and started walking.

Why was he looking at her like that?

She chewed on her lip and studied him. He had his crossbow slung casually over one shoulder, the other arm hanging at side.

Something was different though.

There was a carelessness to his step. He walked slower, one hip a little tilted off to the side.

Beth clenched the strap of her bag and trailed after him.

His long hair floated up and away from his head in the breeze.

Suddenly it dawned on her.

That was a man's walk. An _arrogant_ man's walk.

She ran to catch up with him, to accuse him.

"You're _laughin' _at me!"

...

Daryl scanned the shelves, looking for anything useful. Most of the stock had been wiped out and what was left was generally no good.

He grabbed the last three packages of BC powder and turned to go down the next aisle. His eyes caught on a stand of magazines and he stopped.

He usually didn't pay much attention to these things but there it was right in his face.

A quick glance up told him Beth was still right outside the door of the convenient store, checking for gas cans or some other thing.

Daryl looked back down and grabbed the magazine, an old March 2010 issue of _Maxim_.

The blonde girl on the cover, Kaley Cuoco, an actress he barely recognized, tugged down on a pair of cut-off, blue-jean shorts provocatively.

He thumbed through to the cover story, glancing back up quickly.

It'd been a long time since he'd seen a woman like this. Blond hair cascading down over one shoulder, healthy curves in all the right places, staring blatantly at the reader with that get-over-here-and-fuck-me look.

He felt his jeans get a little tight and thought about stuffing the magazine in his pack, but a high-pitched, blood-curdling scream split through the air, making him drop the magazine.

A second later he had his crossbow up and ready as he hurried to the front of the store.

He didn't see Beth anywhere.

"Beth!"

The road ahead was deserted but he looked quickly in both directions.

"Beth!"

He turned back to the store, scanning the area, his heart pumping wildly.

"Beth!" He called again.

A lone walker ambled around the side of the building, snarling hungrily with its arms forward. Daryl quickly took it down.

Then he saw it.

Her bag, laying there right next to the biter he'd dropped.

His throat went dry. His feet seemed stuck to the hot asphalt. Blonde hair, matted. Dirty jeans. Corpse seemed fresh.

Daryl forced himself forward and tried to remember what Beth had been wearing today.

Was it the gray sweater? The green shirt?

He let out a breath as he stopped in front of it.

Not her.

Bow raised, Daryl slowly turned the corner.

Nothing.

Moving forward cautiously, he rounded another corner that led to the back of the store.

His shoulders dropped, the crossbow in his right hand falling again to his side.

There she was about twenty feet away. She had her arms wrapped around herself and a dead walker lay at her feet.

Beth turned suddenly when she heard him approach, knife raised and ready to strike.

"Oh." She let her hand fall and wiped half-heartedly at her face with the other one.

"It's just you."

She'd been crying. Daryl shifted awkwardly from one foot to the other, wondering whether he should be pissed at her for running off like that and screaming to high-heaven or if he should just stay silent.

"What happened?" he settled with, staring at the back of her head.

Beth shrugged.

"I thought," she turned and gestured down at the walker, "it came up on me and I thought, at first, that it was Maggie."

Daryl looked down. Brown, shoulder length hair, dark jeans, dark shirt.

He thought back to the other sign they'd seen that morning.

_Glenn go to Terminus. Maggie._

Sometimes he forgot that Beth had her own struggles. With that lopsided, goofy smile, her naïve optimism, and the bounce in her step. He forgot she'd lost just about everyone too, same as him.

"Let's get your bag, find someplace to camp for the night."

Beth glanced up at him and stepped into place, grateful he didn't say anything about her going off on her own.

"Did you find anything in there?"

He thought briefly about that stupid magazine.

"Naw, nothin'.

…


	6. Together

**Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to AMC's Walking Dead or any of the characters. I own only my imagination.**

**Summary: Just two people at the end of the world, thrown together, alone together. T rating (for now), during S4, post-prison. BETHYL.**

...

5. _Together_

…

She thinks he's warming up to her. She thinks he might like having someone there to talk to him but not expect him to say much back. She thinks he's glad he let go of all his demons. Like he's lighter almost. And okay now, with not being alone and all.

She bumps her shoulder with his, grinning up at him wide and big, all teeth, like a crazy person.

"I'm growing on you, aren't I?" She says, eyes squinting hard in the sunlight.

He looks away from her, from that smile. So big and so pretty it kind of hurts to look at straight on. Her hair brushes his arm. He thinks if she never got more than two feet away from him, it wouldn't be the end of the world.

And that kind of thinking makes him nervous.

It's hard to say where it's all coming from. She's not a sister, not a cousin. Not a little kid. He don't wanna kiss her or nothin'. But he likes her here. Likes walking together. He don't know where to start. Or what it means. Or how it all adds up.

To him and her.

"Ain't so bad," is all he says, scouring the trees for movement.

_I remember_, she'd said. _It's what I know_, she'd told him.

"Well, I'm all you got right now. Better get used to me."

That don't sound so hard to do. She don't sound sad about it.

One small, thin arm wraps around one of his. She starts humming some little melody, scaring away all the game. She picks a flower and puts it behind her ear.

He thinks she's crazy.

He thinks maybe he's going crazy, because he don't mind her kind of crazy anymore.

…

**A/n**: Yes, this is post-Still, in case anyone was confused. I didn't want to risk being unoriginal and just rewriting the scene straight from the show. I've seen it done and it' gets old after awhile. Short one this time, but I wrote two chapters tonight and didn't want to string them together.


	7. Gone

**Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to AMC's Walking Dead or any of the characters. I own only my imagination.**

**Summary: Just two people at the end of the world, thrown together, alone together. T rating (for now), during S4, post-prison. BETHYL.**

**A/n: **Same as last chapter. I'm trying to approach the "Still" and "Alone" scenes with a little more creativity than just copying from the show. I got the idea for this chapter from Tim O'Brien's war novel _The Things They Carried_. It's quite different from the book, but I liked the concept.

…

6. _Gone_

…

It happens like this:

A lone, white mutt sniffs around the funeral home and Daryl lets him in because Beth asks him to. She feeds him peanut butter off her spoon and wraps her dirty, scrawny arms around him. Daryl tells her she's probably gonna catch fleas but he scratches the mutt behind his ears anyway. They curl up together on the floor, facing each other, in front of the piano with the mutt in-between them. Her blue eyes shine in the soft darkness and he can't force himself to look away even though he thinks he should. Soft fingertips brush his and then her hand is wrapped lightly around his own. Her touch is gentle and firm; it's enough to make it hard for him to breathe. He watches her until her eyelids flutter shut, her breathing deep and even, chest rising in sync with the softly snoring dog. He rubs his thumb against the back of her hand until he falls asleep. In the morning, they decide to keep pursuing Terminus. They stuff their bags with preserved goods and Beth leaves a "thank you" note. As they head out, her little finger curls around his and Daryl doesn't pull away. The mutt trails after them, running in circles around their feet. Daryl thinks this feels like living.

…

None of that actually happens. It's all made up. Don't believe it.

It's the worst kind of story because it gives you hope and tries for beauty without telling you about all the terrible, ugly things.

Here's the real story:

Daryl went to let the dog in because Beth asked him to, but instead of a mutt, he found a herd of walkers and he yelled at Beth to run. When Daryl eventually made it out of the funeral home, he couldn't find Beth. Out of nowhere a black car with a white cross on the back window sped off down the road and Daryl chased after it for hours. All that was left of Beth was the bag of money and jewels he'd collected at the country club. She was gone. Daryl was alone. There was never any dog.

He left the bag.

It was terrible and beautiful at the same time. Her gone. Him chasing.

…

He wanted to give up. Just sit there in the middle of the road until he met his end. He hoped Beth was dead because her being _just gone_ felt worse. He thought he might not mind if Joe and his gang were the ones to do him in.

But he carried on. No, he didn't go searching for Beth; he didn't make any marks on the side of the road in case she was out there tracking him.

_Glenn go to Terminus. Maggie_.

He didn't leave no signs. No clues.

There wasn't any grand romance in missing her. In being gone.

But there was something that did happen to him. There was something.

He didn't feel angry.

He didn't feel anything.

It was like nothing. Like he was gone too. He realized she'd given him hope, something to believe in, without him even knowing it.

Before, back in the beginning, when he had been with her, he had been mad. Angry that they'd lost everything. Angry that after all that time trying to make a home there, he was left with what in the end? Her.

But he'd never thought of quitting before.

Now something about quitting seemed alright with him. Like it'd be an okay way to go. What he really was, was just tired of it all. He didn't want to do it anymore. Survive. Carry on. What was it worth?

_You're gonna miss me so bad when I'm gone, Daryl Dixon_.

And that was it.

Who met the end of the world all alone?

Who wanted to be the Last Man Standing?

The prison seemed years in the past. The prison seemed like nothing.

Beth. Now that's a loss.

Beth.

That was losing everything.

Beth.

…

**A/n: **How do you think it went? Let me know.


	8. Gravity

**Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to AMC's Walking Dead or any of the characters. I own only my imagination.**

**Summary: Just two people at the end of the world, thrown together, alone together. T rating (for now), during S4, post-prison. BETHYL.**

**A/n**: It's been a while, but I've just graduated university and begun a dramaturgy internship so life's been moving fast. This chapter gets us up to the most recent season's end. The text switches between past and present tense in some instances, but I feel like it works. If it doesn't let me know. You'll see what I mean.

…

7._ Gravity_

…

It feels like a huge weight has been lifted off his shoulders. A lightness envelopes him. He feels like he's floating.

It's strange.

He ain't no poet. Ain't no romantic.

But coming upon Rick, Michonne, and the boy means something.

He don't really know what, but it has to be something.

He's been relieved. Relieved of the burden of walking alone. Of walking dead.

He's tired of running, tired of being left, tired of alone.

Sitting there next to Rick with his back against the car, beat up, torn up, he feels more alive than he has since… before now.

Rick's questions stop him. Pulls him back down.

_I was with Beth_.

…

"Hey, Daryl?"

He nods in the kid's direction, still scanning up ahead. The sheriff's hat bobs into his peripheral vision.

"You think you can teach me how to use your bow sometime?" kid asks looking up at him, one eye squinted from the glare of the sun.

The request stills him, stills his eyes, his breath.

Everything shifts out of focus for a moment; the blur of a blonde head directly in front of him. Pale, thin arms holding the long weapon up, steady, determined.

Daryl blinks. There's nothing but miles of track before his boots. Not a damn thing else in sight.

He drops his arm, turns to kid.

"What, you, gunslinger?"

Kid shrugs and fingers his pistol fondly.

"Might run out of bullets someday."

Daryl starts again, kicks at the gravel in between the wooden slats.

"Might run outta arrows too."

…

He's keeping busy. Being a part of the team. Doing his job. Protecting the group. Following Rick's lead.

It feels like so long ago: those times when he was the one calling most of the shots. Paving the way. Making decisions for him and her.

When he's busy, he's light. Free. Ain't got nothing to worry about but getting the job done. He stays up, stays moving, keeps doing things till his eyes droop shut of their own accord. He drifts off into sleep without ever thinking about anything.

Dreamless.

Weightless.

Free.

He tries not to think about things mostly. At least, the things that ain't easy to think about.

…

He'd known it was a bad idea going into that place. But he also knew that when you found yourself with a family, you also found yourself with responsibilities. Bigger, life-changing, dangerous responsibilities than you ever had before.

It was the risk they took staying together.

They had lived together.

Scavenged together.

Fought together.

In the end everyone has to die alone, but he'd realized that he didn't have to live alone waiting for that day to come.

So he'd known it was a bad idea from the start. But if Maggie was there, if Glenn was there, it was a risk they would take.

Still, when Rick pointed out Glenn's riot gear, Maggie's poncho, and Hershel's watch, he wondered if the risk they took had been for nothing.

They were surrounded by sick people, desperate people, willing to do anything—the unthinkable—to survive.

Yet just a few days back Rick tore a man's throat out to protect his son. Daryl himself had spilled the blood of many men to keep his own safe. He'd do it again too.

Were they really that different from them? Was spilling a man's blood the same as eating his meat and stripping his bones bare of the flesh that had once made him whole?

No.

They weren't the same.

They were a group rooted in defense tactics. Tougher men would spit to that. You wanted to be on top, have control, and take care of your own, you ran the offense.

Smarter men, men like Rick, knew better. He was steady. A wall of brick. The patient hand on your shoulder, holding you back from doing something stupid.

These people here at Terminus played the offense. They lured people in with false promises and then sent them off to their graves. They never gave anyone a chance; they would strike before they were struck.

But the thing about the offense—the thing Rick knew, that Daryl knew—was that even though it came in fast and packed a lot of punch, it was all muscle and no brain.

Daryl's crew was a team built on defense—there was honor to it. Don't fuck with me and we won't fuck with you. They had dealt with a bunch of sonsabitches who thought they'd try it and they'd died regretting it. Offensive players were weak at defense. That's what Rick knew.

He knew that if they were patient long enough waiting in the dark train car, that the people at Terminus would show their soft spot and when they did, their group would latch on and destroy them from the inside out.

That's what they had to do. They had regained too much—Maggie, Glenn, Sasha, Bob—to just lose it all again.

After he walked into the dark car, Daryl's mind was rifling through a long list of profanities. They were up to their knees in shit again. They were drowning in it.

_Yeah, what else is new?_

But then when the doors closed shut behind them and what little light was captured in the small space reflected off of Maggie's inquiring face he went blank. And when Glenn and the others stepped forward, he had no words.

He was lost.

But free.

Weightless. Light as a feather, quiet as a mouse.

He'd known it was a bad idea coming here. That more likely than not, it would come to nothing.

_Wouldn't kill you to have a little faith._

He'd almost lost hope, forgotten about everyone but himself and the long, lonely walk of the dead.

_I know they're out there, Daryl. _

She was right, he thought. And here he was, undeserving and unbelieving, guilty of many sins, blood covering his soul, witnessing a miracle.

And Beth, the tiny girl who had faith and hope and love overflowing in her heart's reserves, she was gone.

The thought of her sucked him back down. Her sister's face turned in their direction, ignorant to what she'd lost, what he'd lost for her, bore down upon him.

He was weighted by gravity all over again.

…

**A/n: **I have a chapter in the works on Beth's whereabouts so don't worry about the fact that she isn't present here. I'll get to that, but I've tried to remain canon up to this point. As always, please reply with your thoughts/suggestions/concerns. I can't know how I'm doing, if you guys won't tell me. :P


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